


Paradise of Light and Shadow

by Sage_S_Adoren



Category: Guardians of Childhood - William Joyce, Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Gen, Good Person Pitch Black (Guardians of Childhood), Multi, Original Character-centric, Pitch Black Returns (Guardians of Childhood), Protective Pitch Black (Guardians of Childhood), Romance, Sad with a Happy Ending, Worst Fear
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-18 23:47:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29990661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sage_S_Adoren/pseuds/Sage_S_Adoren
Summary: Cherie Love has been alone for many years, and that is indeed by choice. She travels around the world, helping those spirits with conflicts, but she never stays for long. And in the year of 2012, she has isolated herself from everyone in her own small realm. But fate has other plans in store for her in the form of a certain King of Nightmares. How will our spirit of Love fare against this creature? Could it be that she will melt his frozen, cold heart?
Relationships: E. Aster Bunnymund/Jack Frost, Jack Frost/Toothiana (Guardians of Childhood), PItch Black/Original Character, Pitch Black/Cherie Love
Comments: 6
Kudos: 2





	1. Lost in Thoughts All Alone

The flowing of water pouring on the ground beneath pink wild roses was all the sound that Cherie had heard. She carefully watered her garden, taking special care of the petunias and the tulips, delicate flowers that they were. She smiled slightly as she took a moment to admire the amount she had managed to grow this year.

It was late spring and most of her flowers had bloomed, including some vegetables she grew. It wasn't something she needed to grow, food was not something she required. But it eased her mentally and gave her something to do. The comforts of food was one thing that she dearly missed from when she was alive. 

Her home was not too grand but it was the idyllic fantasy of every cottage-core obsessed person. A small house situated on an edge with a bridge over a small stream. And all around was Cherie's gardens and objects she had collected over the years. She adored the home she had built for herself. It brought her a sense of ease.

The second noise at the time she heard that day was the sound of rustling. Surprised, she turned her head to see what had caused the commotion. While humans could not come in here without her letting them in, animals were far more perceptive and received far less restrictions. So she merely assumed one of her animal friends had come around to see her once more.

She followed the noise into the thick forest that surrounded her home and eventually came into a small clearing, where there was a figure laying on the ground, moving but barely and struggling. And it was certainly no animal. It looked to be male.

"Oh my!" Gasping, she approached and kneeled down to see what had happened. The man in question was certainly no human, having grey skin and black hair that spiked back like glass shards. His eyes were closed but his facial features were sharp and daunting. He was dressed in black robes that circles around his legs. She knew he was a spirit. And he was injured, badly. Countless wounds that opened to reveal black gashes of blood. He was weak and Cherie knew she could not leave this spirit here.

Carefully, she pulled him up and tried to move him, struggling to do so. With no other option, she nudged him into slight consciousness and their eyes met. His gaze was unfocused but she could tell he was able to register her following words. "May you help me by walking? I know you are grievously injured but I cannot carry you alone." 

He nodded slightly before clutching his side and walking beside her as she held him up from falling over. It took some time, but Cherie had managed to get him in her home and into her bedroom, where she laid the injured spirit down. He immediately passed out and Cherie smiled slightly before her smile faded as she examined his injuries.

Yup, they were bad.

Cherie spent a good few yet fast minutes to prepare her medical kit and when she returned, she was glad to still find the spirit alive. Working quickly, she sewed up some of the injuries and used some light magic to help them heal faster. Then she bandaged them and watched the spirit before her sleep soundly. She briefly wondered how he ended up like this and how he found her realm. It wasn't uncommon for wayward spirits to find their way there but Cherie's presence usually told them to turn back.

Perhaps this spirit was desperate?

She knew that when this spirit woke up, she would have her answers. So she waited.

* * *

Pitch Black was many things over the course of so many years, of centuries. He was the Nightmare King, defeated once long ago. Then he was depowered, but he still held power over this world through children's fears. And when he was at the height of his power when he collected so many Nightmares, and nearly defeated the Guardians of Childhood, he was beaten once more, but this time by the Guardians which now included that stupid winter spirit, Jack Frost. 

And through his own fear, the Nightmares that once obeyed him were turned on him. They attacked him viciously and dragged him back into his own realm, to nearly destroy him. They had left him shattered, a shell of his former self and of his power. He was weak and near death. But he had managed to crawl away and escape.

The last thing he remembered was light shining upon him, masked by the leaves of trees. A soft voice guiding him. And then nothing. He thought he had actually died.

But now he was slowly rousing and he had to shield himself from the light that hit his eyes. He groaned as he slowly tried to sit up, only to grunt in pain as his side screamed at him to stop. Realizing he was bound to the bed for now, he leaned back and tried to look around. He had realized that he was on a very soft and comfortable bed, which meant he was no longer in the forest where he had passed out. 

He was in someone's house. Who? He had no idea. But looking around, he noticed the room was decorated with vines and plants with some lights that looked like white Christmas lights. The room had a very homey feeling to it, with a dresser and desk in one corner and a window. Nothing looked modern, it was all very fantasy-esc and old fashioned. Whoever lived here clearly enjoyed plants and nature. The décor almost irritated him with how serene and full of life everything seemed to be. Sure, he could appreciate beauty, but to him, nothing was more beautiful than the screams of terror.

And then another realization hit him. He was at the mercy of whoever lived here and that made him scoff in indignation and even a touch of fear, not that he would ever admit that to anyone. He was bedridden and could not move without causing immense pain. 

"Oh, you are awake, sir." That voice! He turned his head to see a young woman, one he almost mistook for a human but he could sense she was no such creature. She was like him, a spirit. But her voice was familiar, he had heard it before he faded into blackness. It was soft and gentle, like the cool breeze on a hot summer day.

What made him consider her a human was the surprisingly human appearance she had. Her skin was tan, her face was devoid of anything odd, she had brown eyes that complimented her skin color nicely. She was dressed in a plain white dress. The only oddities were her light pink colored hair that was curly and shortly cut to her mid-neck, alongside the light amounts of pink in her eyes, small comparatively to the brown but they stuck out well enough. However, this was not her true form, she concealed it well. Truth be told, he had no idea why she would do such a thing and more importantly, who she was.

However, her expectant gaze reminded him that she had posed him a question. He had to regain his composure to answer her properly. "Yes, I just woke up actually." He replied.

"Oh, that is excellent!" She replied sweetly yet there was a certain hollowness to her tone, as if she had detached herself from the situation. "I have prepared a potion for you, it will help with the aches." She handed him a small vial of golden liquid. He regarded her with suspicion. "I'm not going to poison you, sir. I assure you, it is perfectly safe."

"Do you know who I am?" He suddenly asked, his gaze staring her down despite him being beneath her in height at the moment. She gave him a confused stare before she smiled lightly.

"Am I supposed to know?" Her voice still carried that hollow tone but she was genuinely confused yet a bit amused. She didn't move much but her feet shifted ever so slightly. "I do not believe we have met before, no."

"I see." Pitch remarked tersely. She was not lying, she genuinely did not know who she was harboring in her home. Perhaps this could be used to his benefit? An innocent and unknowing spirit who was not aware of him? This would indeed be interesting. Schooling his stoic expression, he smirked up at her. "Well, may I know your name then?"

Instead of answering him right away, she gripped both sides of her dress and curtsied before him, bowing her head, all in one impossibly graceful motion. Pitch's eyes widened slightly as he raised a brow at her. Then her gaze met his as she stood up straight once more, far too proper to be considered anyone but of high status.

"My name is Cherie Amore Love, Spirit of Love." She introduced, her voice softer. Pitch nearly shifted uncomfortably at how gentle it sounded but restrained himself. He would not show further weakness to a small spirit. And even though she was the spirit of love, her own power paled in comparison to his own. 

That is, until recently.

"Cherie, huh?" Pitch replied, projecting his amusement at her name. He watched as she remained painfully still, like a doll almost, but he could see her lean back just the slightest bit. She was nervous, but refused to show it. Good. He smirked as he opened the vial and drank it in once gulp before speaking to her, without meeting her eyes. "It is an odd name indeed."

"And what is yours then?" She suddenly interjected, much to his chagrin. She was no longer nervous, and was now just challenging. Apparently, she would not take his teasing without a fight. And even though her voice was no louder than before, the retort was no less confident. 

Pitch smirked. A challenge huh?

"Pitch Black, King of Nightmares at your service." If he could, he would have done a dramatic bow, but a slight wave of his arm and a cunning smirk was all he needed. That did indeed do the trick, as the Love spirit twitched and a soft gasp escaped her lips. Her eyes were wide. She was not scared, but she had realized with some shock of his status and who he was. Pitch reveled in her surprise, and internally it boosted his ego to know that he could, even while gravely injured, still invoke powerful emotion in someone. 

However, to his great surprise, she quickly recovered and smiled pleasantly, but there was something there besides that hollowness she had before. Acceptance? Apathy? He was unsure himself, her emotions were so mixed and intense that it was hard to shift through them all. Her smile never reached her eyes as she looked at Pitch with dignity. 

"Welcome to my home, your highness." She said welcomingly. At this Pitch had no idea how to respond. He was shocked himself that someone would even address him by his title. He was indeed a king, but to hear another spirit regard him as such? It was sure a shock. "I apologize for the mess of the space, it will be cleaned. Would you like anything? I have not been much of a good host."

Pitch was rendered speechless briefly before he realized she was expecting an answer. "Oh, um, yes! Do you have, um... tea of some kind?"

"Certainly, your majesty! If you will excuse me." She curtsied again before she left the room, moving gracefully and without flaw. She sounded genuinely happy to be serving him, but again, that apathy and acceptance still lingered. She was not afraid of him, but he assumed she was being kind to him out of some ulterior motive. Though he could not figure out why...

Pitch was left in the room, lost in thoughts all alone and unsure of what to do when she would return.


	2. Circles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Circles, in circles, I go around, looking for something that can't be found... Circles, in circles, without a sound, my words can't be heard when the fear surrounds my heart...

Cherie's emotions were all over the place.

On one hand, what the hell was a Spirit doing here?! Sure, they could come in, but the sheer fact that _this_ Spirit in particular had found her made her feel... uneasy? She knew that anyone harboring the Nightmare King himself would be uneasy. But she found herself uneasy not because of his presence, but rather of what his presence meant for her.

She needed to get him out, as soon as possible. But while she wanted him to leave, she would not forsake the rules of hospitality. She would address him by his title, be a good host, and make sure he rests and heals properly. What more could someone like her do? 

But her fear would not escape her. And despite it, there was a sense of apathy, a detachment. As much as she wanted to, she could not allow herself to do more for him than just heal him. She vowed to herself that she needed to be isolated from everyone. There had been too many close calls... and one that was not a close call.

She exhaled heavily as she forced a smile and poured some hot water over some tea leaves she had personally dried. She had made enough for both of them and not even 30 seconds later, she removed the leaves. Green tea was fickle like that, too much and the taste would be too bitter, and too little and it wouldn't be strong enough. She grabbed a tray and placed both tea cups on it before going back upstairs, preparing herself mentally for the torture she would put herself through.

* * *

Pitch felt himself still reeling. While he had still not recovered fully from being addressed by his title without a hint of teasing, he felt a sense of pride at having his title be acknowledged finally. It was a liberating feeling and he hated how deprived of it he had been for the past few centuries. It reminded him of times he chose not to bring forth.

He hadn't waited too long for her to return.

The Love Spirit's smile was akin to that of a porcelain doll, breakable and fake. That hollowness still retained in her gaze. He was not sure how to respond to her avid avoidance of showing her true emotions. So he settled for simply staring at her with a sly expression. She pulled up a chair and sat on it beside the bed, before handing him his cup of tea. He inhaled the scent and was pleasantly surprised to smell Green tea. Not a flavor he had tasted in years.

He took a sip and watched as the girl's delicate hands take her own tea cup like a princess and sip out of it, back straight and posture perfect. She was the epitome of a perfectionist, it would seem. A habit that she perhaps had in her previous life? His gaze settled on the tea cup he held, non-existent brows furrowing. What was this Spirit's motives?

A small and soft hiccup alerted his gaze back to her. Cherie's eyes had gone wide in surprise and a dainty hand covered her mouth. She met his gaze and then giggled. "I apologize, my Lord. I apparently drank too quickly." 

Despite her, admittedly, cute gestures and noises, he couldn't find much fault in her. Of course, she was not perfect, judging by the obvious emotional instability, but she pretended to be, and that was strange. She really was like a doll - picture perfect on the outside but inside? Hollow and uncertain. 

However, to his innermost shock, he didn't know what she feared. Sure, he could tell when she was feeling certain emotions such as fear and anxiety, he could not tell what she was precisely afraid of. But it certainly wasn't of him and that irked him just the slightest bit. 

"Is the tea suitable?" Her voice, smooth like honey, asked politely. Pitch took another sip in response. Cherie only laughed gently. "I will take that answer as confirmation." 

"It is good." Pitch admitted without much effort. He did not have to hide his fondness for tea. "I haven't had tea in many years, so this is pleasant."

"Whyever not?" She asked, leaning forward ever so slightly. Pitch narrowed his eyes slightly at her and she leaned away, bowing her head in apology. He smiled at her compliance and figure he could get used to the boundless respect and politeness. "What I mean is why not drink tea more often?"

"I do not need it to survive and quite frankly, I don't care to grow my own or even exert the effort to steal some." He chuckled at her, smirking. "Maybe you have convinced me though, this is good." He took another sip. 

He did not fail to notice the pleased and yet bashful smile and the slight dust of red on her cheeks. Try as she may, the doll was not immune to emotion. Pitch could tell that she drank up his validation of her like a sponge. And that intrigued him ever so slightly. This may be useful in his favor. Feed her praise and potentially gain an ally?

But the problem of what her own motives still stood. Since he could not read her fears, he could not figure out what motivated her, what made her tick. Why she was even helping him, despite what she now knew of his identity? And by hell if he would even ask her why. He did not want to give her any power to use him. So he was stuck.

"Thank you, your Highness." She looked downright delighted, and Pitch had to suppress a grin at the title. The hollowness still remained in her eyes but there was a small glow as well. She was trying to conceal her excitement, desperately. "I do my best to grow my own food."

"Why even eat, you don't need to, after all." He half asked and half stated. Cherie was quiet for a moment, her face was stoic, unemotive. But her eyes betrayed that she was deep in thought. A chaotic swirl of emotions within. When she finally looked at him, her expression was pensive, uncertain.

"I... I want to eat because I enjoy it." She answered simply and yet it revealed a lot about her. A potential fear, for once, and also some kind of hobbies, interests, motives. Deciding to take a jab at her, he laughed.

"Ah, still clinging to your past life? Predictable." He mocked lightly but Cherie's face turned impassive as she stood up abruptly and when she looked at him, her gaze was hollow once more with that doll smile.

"Have a good evening, my Lord. And let me know if you need anything." She said politely before she curtsied and left the room, leaving a borderline indignant and yet amused Pitch Black.

* * *

Cherie would not allow it.

She told herself this. She would not allow herself to slip up again. No, she couldn't let herself do that again, no matter what happened. She exhaled heavily before she proceeded down the stairs and back into the living room, which was sort of mixed with the kitchen. She sat on her couch and began to fiddle with her dress as she picked up some pieces of paper.

Musical notes lined the papers but they were chaotic and haphazard. Which made sense, she only really composed stuff based off of her emotions. But this was just... gibberish. Notes jumping suddenly with no rhyme or rhythm, no motif, nothing productive or substantial. She hated it.

Crumbling it into a ball, she launched the papers into the bin. She sat back down, not even realizing she had gotten up, and covered her face with her hands. A choked sob came from her as her shoulders hunched and she cried softly, as to not alert the guest upstairs.

Guest...

She hated this. 

She hated living like this. But she told herself she had to, no matter what. Anyone could be affected and no one was safe from her. But she hated it nonetheless, she hated being alone and hated feeling like this. And there was a person now here, who was probably going to stay for at least a week due to his injuries. She did not care that he was the Nightmare King, her need for company was too great. 

He said she was predictable with wanting to hold onto her humanity, but she did not see it that way. It was a comfort, a distraction and his words had admittedly, hurt. But she could not allow herself to feel this way, she would not be affected so drastically by this Spirit. Lest she drive herself insane, and honestly, it felt like that was happening already.

It had been 30 years since the last time she saw another person. And it was torment, but she endured it. And now, Pitch's presence was destroying all the work she had done in order to stay sane. But it didn't have to! She could just... make a friend, talk to him. She wanted to, oh how she desperately wanted to. 

But she knew she couldn't, and her emotions went in circles once more.

The bear minimum was all she could spare.

And that only made her sob harder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews/comments are very much appreciated!!


End file.
